Spying
by popcorngoo
Summary: Sansa spies Sandor in the garden. Sandor spies Sansa in her room. The two reflect on the other. Sansan all the way! xD
1. Chapter 1

Whoo! Okay, so I am HUUUUUGELY engrossed in Game of Thrones. I have see the complete first two seasons, and I am currently reading the first book. I LOOOOOOOVE it! So, if there are inconsistencies with things I must apologize. I have not read the whole series. I do NOT know what happens in the end. So, this is all speculation and wishful thinking on my part. I am a die hard Sansan fan and Gendrya, along with Jorah/Dany. xD This is my first Game of Thrones fanfic ever! yay! I should stop typing and go to bed already. It's 3:50 AM people!GAH! *dies* Ive pretty much become completely nocturnal now that it's summer and I have no classes. . Oh, and for those who may be wondering I plan to write a companion chapter to go with this one. So, I'm hoping to write one more chapter. But it will probably just be the two. *le gasp!* Popcorngoo _actually_ planned something! Doesn't she just usually write all willy-nilly and whatever cockamaymee shite that enters into her little head! Yes. Usually that is the case. lol. xD

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Chapter 1

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Sansa Stark walked silently through the halls of the castle at King's Landing. It was a warm day, despite the fact that winter was coming, and she just wanted to get a breath of fresh air. It was so stifling in the throne room with Joffrey and the King's guard. Sansa always seemed to feel stifled nowadays. Life had not been how she had dreamt it to be at Joffrey's side. As soon as she came to fully realize this Sansa found little comfort in much of anything. But every now and then she would take a stroll through the grounds, or the halls, or pretty much anywhere. 'That way it would be harder for Joffrey or his followers to find her', she thought to herself with a small grin.

Sansa was about to turn a corner when she heard voices coming from the other side. Suddenly she was struck with panic. She did not want another encounter with the Queen or someone equally as distasteful…like her son. Quickly and as quietly as she could she hid behind an expensive looking tapestry. The voices were getting louder now. Two males. Sansa gulped and hid as much of her body as she could behind the royal red cloth. Her feet might have been poking out, but she had no time to worry about that as the voices were upon her now. It was Sandor Clegane and another guard.

She couldn't really make out what they were saying. Both men had dull, gravelly voices that were so low her ears could not pick up exact words. They seemed to be talking pleasantly enough, although pleasant and Sandor were not words Sansa would have thought to put together in the same sentence before. She almost giggled to herself before she realized how that would have alerted them to her location.

As they drew closer, Sansa did not even dare to breathe. Although, if she were found by the Hound it would not be so bad, but she did not wish to explain her reason for hiding in the first place. The man already thought she was a stupid little girl. She didn't want to give him any more ammunition against her.

They seemed to stop for a minute. Sansa held her breath anxiously. They were right in front of her now. She could see their silhouette's through the cloth. Sandor's towering frame was turned. His head seemed to move in her direction for a second. Then he gave a bit of a snort. It could have been Sansa's imagination, but she thought that might have been Sandor's own code for amusement.

Then the two were off again, striding quickly down the hallway and away from Sansa. She finally breathed a sigh of relief after she could not hear their footsteps any more. Cautiously she peered her head out from behind the curtain. Seeing no one either left or right she demurely crept from behind her hiding place. Sansa straightened her dress and fixed her hair, pretending that she had not been hiding like a little child just a few seconds ago. She continued on her walk with all the grace of a lady, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred after that.

Between attending meals, royal occasions, Joffrey's excruciating presence, and the much more pleasant company of Jeyne, Sansa had been going on her little walks quite a bit more than usual. There were few things that Sansa found comfort in while in King's Landing, but the solitude of a stroll was definitely one of them. And, to her surprise, she had bumped into the ever cheerful Sandor Clegane more often than not. He may have been the King's dog, but he was not by his side at every moment of the day it seemed.

Actually, she found herself seeking him out, hopeful to try and catch him off guard, since the day she hid in the tapestry. He never commented on the incident, but she knew he knew. And it had turned into a sort of game, at least for her, to sneak around the halls and spy on Sandor. He knew she was there of course, he always knew. He would not be Joffrey's trusted dog without being the best at being vigilant. When he caught her he would snarl at her, but most times he just ignored her. Sansa couldn't explain why this game of hers was so fascinating, but she found little enjoyment in much else that she would not deny herself little amusements.

So, one day when she was out in the gardens, seeking out her target, she came upon him sitting on a stone bench. She grinned to herself, having spotted him quite a ways off she slowly, quietly crept closer. She was mindful to stay low and close to the bushes. Inwardly she thought how silly she must have looked. 'A lady does not spy on people!' she reminded herself harshly, but found that she could not stop now. She had found her prey after all and it was too late to go back now.

As she drew closer she debated how close she could get before the hound sniffed out her presence. Her feet continued their slow forward movement until she could make out the details of his form. He was sitting on that dreadfully uncomfortable looking stone bench, slightly slumped to the side. His dog helmet was at his side and lay staring accusingly at Sansa. From her angle, she could see the front of him, and the good side of his face with a portion of burned skin on his forehead and chin. He wore his usual garb, chest plate, armor, greaves and all the accoutrements of a guard of high station. Black was his usual choice of color. His hair, a dark chestnut brown, seemed stringy and a bit greasy. The curls framing his face could do with a bit of washing, and Sansa thought, 'His curls would be just as glorious as Ser Loras's own curly mane'. She didn't know why she thought that, but she did all the same. Her eyes moved up his form and to his face. With a start she realized he was asleep. A flagon of wine still clutched in his large hand seemed to be the culprit.

A thought occurred to her that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. She had spied Sandor Clegane, infamous Hound of the King, asleep out in the open. She took the time to study his features. Sansa did not normally like to gaze upon the face of Sandor. He scared her. But it wasn't so much his face that frightened her, as it was his piercing eyes. They held such cruelty within them that she could not stand to look at him for long. So, in this instance with him asleep, she eagerly took in his face. His beard was scruffy. It was not long or bushy, simply unkempt, but it seemed to suit him just fine. The dark whiskers added character to his features and Sansa could not imagine him without them. She moved onto his nose. It was a fine, strong nose. Or it would have been had it not looked broken. There was a bit of a bump in the middle, but it did not detract from his features. It was just something else to take note of. His eyes were closed, but he had long dark eyelashes. Sansa was actually a bit envious of them. Hers were short and fair colored, and did nothing to frame her eyes. His cheekbones were not sharp or defined. They were high and manly looking as they curved into the side of his jaw. His brows were thick and definitive. Often they were drawn down, wrinkling his forehead. But in sleep they were more relaxed than Sansa had ever seen them. She did not think it possible, but he actually looked peaceful this way. She smiled a small smile to herself at this. Her gaze moved downward toward his lips. Half of them were burned and chapped. Her smile turned sad at this. His mouth was parted slightly as snores escaped his mouth. They were full lips, plump and thin in all the right places. Sansa would not describe him as attractive, but Sandor was not an ugly man. 'If not for that dreadful burn of his, he could have found a nice wife I'm sure.' The burn totally malformed the other side of his face. His skin was red and puckered grotesquely. The skin around his eye drooped. His mouth was twisted into a perpetual frown. And part of his jaw bone could be seen poking out. Sansa shuddered to herself. It was definitely not a pretty sight. She could not help but feel immense pity towards the man even if he did not want it.

Unwittingly, Sansa must have taken a wrong step for in the next moment Sandor startled awake with a great jump. His whole body flinched and he let out a quick growl which turned into a groan as he held his head, no doubt still drunk and dealing with a hangover. He cursed quite loudly and profusely. Something about buggering hell, and what not. Sansa froze. She was close enough that she could touch him if she desired to do so, but she was hoping the brush of the bush would cloak her presence to him. Now that he was awake however she did not feel that she could remain hidden. Sandor had a knack for finding her, even when she did not want to be found.

He continued to grumble to himself for a few moments, wiping his mouth and tucking his helmet and wine into the crook of his arm. He stood with a creak of stiff limbs, and stretched his back languorously. A few pops sounded and he let out a low groan. Sansa blushed as the sound permeated her ears. 'A lady should not think of such things!' She reminded herself quickly. She shook her head to clear it of the impure thoughts floating about. And, as if alerted by her minute movement, Sandor looked in her direction. Sansa gulped.

He snorted and said, "What are you doing down there little bird?"

Sansa, knowing there would be no use hiding anymore stood reluctantly. She awkwardly played with an errant curl of hair and blushed.

"H-hello my lord." She looked up at him, then quickly darted her eyes away.

Sandor frowned and rasped out, "I. am. Not. A. lord. What do I have to do to get that through your stupid little head?" With each word spoken he stepped closer. He towered over her, barely a foot away. He was trying to intimidate her. She knew it. But that didn't stop it from working.

"I-I am sorry." She quietly mumbled out timidly. This man scared the wits right out of her head! He smelled of wine, and a drunken Sandor was never a good thing.

He sighed and glared at her. "What are you doing out here? A bird's place is in its cage."

Sansa didn't really like his crude remarks about her intelligence, but 'little bird' had ended up almost sounding like an endearment coming from him. And she grew used to his nickname for her; even if it was because he thought she was stupid.

"I was just out for a stroll when I happened upon you here. I had not meant to intrude." She replied demurely, all the while keeping her eyes on his chest. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes.

He growled, deep and low in his chest, reminiscent of a dog snarling. His large, callused hand roughly grabbed her chin, forcing her face to stare at his own.

"Look. At. Me." He rumbled darkly. His voice was thick with emotion. Anger, she saw, in his eyes. His eyes were a cold, dark gray. But they held such aggression, even under the influence of wine. They sparked and glinted with restrained intensity. His grip was tight and unrelenting on her jaw. He would not let her go until he had made sure she had a good, long look. He fingers dug into the soft flesh of her pale cheeks.

Sansa was scared, and trembling. She could do not do a thing, but look. She searched his eyes even though she did not want to. The sight of them, so focused and angry on her own eyes made her lip quiver fretfully. One eye dark, normal, and the other deformed and sunken into the blistered flesh. Her chest heaved with fright, pity, and sadness. She had a deep sadness for all the horrors this man had to endure in his life.

Sandor yanked his hand away from her. He turned from her, not wishing to look upon her face and her pity a moment longer.

"Go. Little bird. And do not stray far from your cage."

Sansa wanted to run from that spot immediately and do as he said, but something about his tone made her curious. She wanted to see what expression he wore, and the reason behind it. She hesitated, lingering a moment.

"Go!" he barked at her.

Sansa jumped and let out a tiny squeak. She flew past him and out of the gardens. Her long ginger hair billowing behind her as she sped away from Sandor and his strange outbursts.

She stopped trying to find him in the castle after that. She figured she had gotten close enough, and did not want to tempt fate and get bitten by the Hound.

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I hope that was okay. If characters are OOC I would love a heads up. Please tell me how to improve. I felt like Sandor's personality was harder for me to grasp than Sansa's. I think to myself, "What would this character say in this situation?" And it was a bit difficult in Sandor's case. Idk. Any input at all is totally welcome! ^^


	2. Chapter 2

WHOO! UPDATE! xD I really felt like writing. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with Sandor's pov, but I just felt like writing. Creative juices were flowing through me and I HAD TO DO IT. I just got this urge ya know? Idk...So, these past few weeks have been busy. I know like every author on here says that, but no seriously. I've been busy. Everyday. I have family staying here for like a month and EVERY day we go out and do stuff. Like we went to the mall, and then Chicago, botanical gardens, the beach, aquarium, park, baby shower, graduation party, etc. etc. This is the busiest I've ever been. Like ever! I'm one of those people who hates being busy, and really enjoys down time. So, this is pretty weird for me. I mean we do fun stuff, but for me to not have any time to just sit and think...it's weird! Anyways, since I'm sure you don't care about my little life I'll just get on with it. But why are you even reading this part? You know you can just skip right over this and start with the story already. Okay, just to have a little test to see who actually reads this I want you to comment saying: (The narwhal bacons at midnight) in a review ok? lol.

Disclaimer: Do not own. Wish I did. But I don't.

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Chapter 2

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The sound of his boots clicking against the polished floors permeated the empty halls. His dark cloak billowed behind him as he took long strides to his destination. The Hound was off again, bid by his master to another meaningless task. There was going to be a feast, in Joffrey's honor, for becoming King and he needed to look his best. Sandor was set to the ever important task of acquiring Joffrey's favorite clothes and armor. Normally a serving wench would do that for him, but the boy thought it amusing to reduce his pet dog to that of an even lower standard. Slave.

'I am already a servant. Not good for anything else except for following orders', Sandor glumly thought to himself.

'I can't even protect the little bird.' He gazed out the windows without seeing anything as his dark memories washed over him.

Beatings. Cruel taunts. Tears. The sound of repressed sobs and fierce blows to her fragile body. Sandor felt disgusted. He was disgusted with the so called 'knights' who vowed to protect the weak, yet savagely beat a frail, little girl who had done nothing wrong other than be stupidly, naïve. He was disgusted with the little King. A psychopath. He enjoyed seeing pain, torment, and violence. Sansa had been nothing but kind and devoted to him, yet he relished in her agony. But most of all, he was disgusted with himself. He had just stood by and watched. Her beautiful blue/green eyes shone with unshed tears. They looked about for any sort of help and found none. When they rested on him he was so disgusted with his inability to disobey the King he wanted to fling himself off a cliff. _Come on. Just do it. Just step right in front of her. It's not that hard. _But no matter how much he wanted to protect her, he knew he could not. He would be killed on the spot. And only make it worse for the girl in the process. He usually did not have the most pleasant of dreams, but after being forced to watch Sansa beaten that was just another memory to add to the multitude of nightmares he had stockpiled in his mind.

'The poor girl. Not a friend in the world and surrounded by lions and snakes', he thought to himself as he almost reached his destination. He frowned as he realized he had been thinking about her the whole time it took him to walk to Joffrey's chambers. He had been thinking about her quite a lot recently. His thoughts of her were ever increasing and it seemed a moment would not go by where he did not wonder about her.

She was just someone he thought needed protecting. That was all. Like his sister…

'Oh bugger that. You want to fuck her you old dog. And you know it too.' He had noticed she followed him. He found it odd, annoying, but he also found himself a bit pleased by the thought that she would actually seek _him_ out. He had put up with her attentions, but when he caught her and snapped at her. She never tried to find him again. He was loathe to admit it, but he was a bit disappointed that she stopped. Now he rarely ever saw the girl. And when he did, he could only catch glances out of the corner of his eye because of the others that may be watching. But that only fueled the fire burning in his loins. She was young, beautiful, and innocent. And he craved her. He didn't think he would find anything else in this world worthwhile ever again since _that time_, but in Sansa Stark he did. He found too much in her.

Sandor clenched his jaw and fiercely bid such thoughts away as he opened Joffrey's bedroom door open. The King was not in at the moment, so the room was empty. Joffrey had other matters to attend to, and once the Hound brought him his clothes and armor Joffrey would most likely scoff at them, change his mind about them, and make Sandor take them back and pick out another set for the King, only for the process to repeat until finally Joffrey would relent and agree to the first set of clothes that Sandor had picked out in the first place. Predictable. And tiring. Yet, this was Sandor's task to endure. As the King's dog, it was his duty.

Sandor squinted in the darkness and lit a few candles hanging on the walls. He rummaged through a few trunks by the changing table. But he could not find the tunic the little shit had asked for. 'Oh buggering hell.' Sandor rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to growl at the absurdity of it all. 'I am not a fucking maid!' He roughly tossed a few pants out of the way and shuffled once more through the clothes, looking for the right ones.

Then, all of a sudden there was a loud THUD.

Sandor's head snapped up at the sound, eyes searching for the culprit. It sounded like it came from the other side of the wall. His eyebrows furrowed. He slowly stood up, aloof and cautious. He heard what he thought was an 'ow', but it was muffled from the wall. He tilted his head, hoping to be able to hear a little better.

As he drew close to the wall he noticed something that he had not seen there before. There was a small hole in the wall off in the corner. Usually there was a painting there, but for some reason Joffrey's painting of two armies fighting a bloody and vicious battle was not there. It lay resting on the nightstand.

Sandor placed his hands on the wall, feeling the cold stone and peered inside the hole in the wall.

A gasp flew past his lips and his eyes widened at what he saw before him. Belatedly, he realized that he should have known what was on the other side.

There was Sansa, gripping her kneecap in pain on the floor. Her eyes were screwed shut tightly as her hands clenched and unclenched her knee. She slowly rocked back and forth to ease the pain. That thud from before must have been her banging into something. She bit her lip to keep from making any sound.

'That little cunt!' he thought angrily. 'He's been spying on her this whole time!' Whether or not Joffrey intended to spy on her for sexual reasons or to see her slip up and do something she shouldn't Sandor could not say, but nonetheless it infuriated him. 'He has no right!' Sandor resisted the urge to throttle the brat. 'Actually….' his voice of reason spoke up, 'He has every right. He _is_ King after all. He can do with her as he pleases.' That last part sounded a little bitter to him, but he ignored it because Sansa was starting to overcome her ache. He focused once more on the Stark girl.

Sansa stood up and rubbed at her knee, glaring at the corner of her bed post accusingly. She released her bottom lip from between her teeth and the effect immediately took Sandor's attention. It was plump, red, and glistening with saliva. It looked moist and soft to the touch. Sandor very much wanted to touch her lips. When he wasn't focused on her hair or eyes, her lips captivated him. So small and delicate, yet sweet and delectable. Just as she is. He could only imagine though. He knew in his heart of hearts that whatever he might _want_ of her it would never happen. He was too old, burned, and ugly. She was too young, naïve, and beautiful. He shook these thoughts awayand resumed watching her.

She had made her way to her changing stand, holding out a white nightgown that looked sheer in the candle light. She looked up, about to ask for assistance, but for whatever reason, changed her mind. She looked a bit sad actually. Sandor didn't really understand, but was actually quite glad for the fact because without a maid to help her Sansa began to undress herself.

His pants suddenly became very uncomfortable.

Sansa was facing away from him, but that did nothing to squelch the excitement racing through his veins. Even though he knew she would be horrified if she knew he was watching, he could not look away. It might put him on the same level as Joffrey who also spied on her it seemed, but he did not care. His eyes would not be moved away from this spot for anything except perhaps a great fire engulfing the room.

Sansa's hands were small, yet clumsy. Apparently she did not usually undress herself and the bindings were a bit tricky for her. She was not totally helpless though, just slow. Eventually she untied the strings and ribbons, and the corset finally came off. The sleeves dipped over her arms, revealing creamy skin, untouched by hard labor and sunlight. Inch by inch, her skin was revealed to him. She was free of her sleeves and began to shimmy out of her beautiful, silken dress. The fabric pooled about her feet. She was beautiful. Her back was arched and he could clearly see her lithe form.

Sandor was painfully hard. This slow torture was unbearable. Every flick of her wrist seemed to taunt him. It was almost like a strip tease, yet she was completely unaware. He could not help but lightly stroke himself through his trousers. He was a man after all. And he figured this was about as good as it would get where Sansa Stark was concerned. He had not even hoped he would get to see this much, so he figured he should take advantage while he could.

Sansa stepped out of her dress, covered only in her small clothes. Her pale legs were long and slim, like that of a gazelle. They curved in all the right places and were smooth and unblemished.

Sandor groaned as he thought of those pretty legs wrapped around his waist. He squeezed himself tighter.

Sansa turned around. It seemed she had heard his noise, but did not know where it had come from. For a second he worried that she might see the hole on her side, but relaxed when she seemed to shrug it off as nothing. Little birds are too trusting.

But now, to Sandor's delight, she was facing him. He could see her beautiful face. Her bright blue/green eyes. Her hair, like fire unbound and swirling around her shoulders and lower back. Her lips, pink and small. He imagined what it would be like to touch her silken hair, having it flow through his calloused fingertips. He imagined the feel of her lips on his would be like soft flower petals gently brushing and sweet smelling. And he imagined her gaze trained on him, unwavering and not scared or full of pity. But filled with want and desire.

He released his cock fully out of his damned, confining pants. Stroking and pumping. He swirled the tip and licked his lips in pleasure. Sweat beaded on his forehead and down his back. His breathe was fast and shallow. Just the sight of Sansa Stark was making him come undone.

Sansa reached for the hem of her small clothes quickly bringing them up over her head and tossing them to the side. She was completely naked now. And it was glorious. Her body was perfect. His hands twitched, craving the feel of her satiny skin beneath his. She was petite. A true little lady. And, though she was still growing, he could not help but notice how her teats would fit rather nicely in the palms of his hands. She was a woman grown now. He could tell that much.

"Fuck", he grunted.

He pumped faster.

She quickly covered herself, as if she was shy of someone finding her there, naked in her room. He was disgruntled to be deprived of the sight of her bosoms, but her innocence made him all the more aroused. He loved that she was so pure, even if it agitated him sometimes.

His hand was moving furiously, working his shaft faster and faster. He gazed at her naked body, drinking it in. The patch of red hair between her legs, her tits, her legs, her smooth stomach. He imagined he was in there with her, and she welcomed him. She opened her arms and embraced him. He knew he was a sick fuck for doing this. For watching her. He felt like he was tainting her by lusting after her this way, but he could not help it.

She bent down to reach for her night gown and Sandor got a very lovely view of her ass. His eyes just about popped out of his skull. Her buttocks was rounded and looked very perky. He would love to give it a pinch or a light smack just to see how it would feel.

He gasped for air as his hand moved like lightning down his cock. Hard and fast. He tried to muffle his noises, but as he came he let out a moan that was no doubt heard by the little bird. He lay there, panting and twitching for a few seconds, relishing in the aftermath of his release. Sansa was staring at the wall now, confused.

Before she could walk towards it he quickly tucked himself back into his pants and grabbed the painting. He roughly held it up and put it back where it was supposed to be. He remembered the order Joffrey had given him, and why he was even there in the FIRST place. He found what he needed by the door and quickly strode out into the hallway. He was halfway down the hall when he heard a door open.

He planned on just continuing on his way when a soft voice called out to him.

"Oh, ser, was that you?"

He stopped, cursing every one of the gods, and slowly, begrudgingly turned around to face the King's bride to be.

"What is it little bird?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, but he knew it wasn't his voice he had to worry about. His eyes would surely tell her everything. He looked at the wall to her right.

"Oh…Well, I heard a noise."

Sandor did not reply.

"A-and I thought it might have been you."

Sandor continued to stare at the wall without a reply.

"W-was I wrong to think so?" Her voice trembled.

Sandor finally relented and said gruffly, "It was not I, little bird. This castle is big and old. It makes many strange noises."

"Oh…"

Sandor half turned. "So I suggest you go back into your room where it is safe." He began to walk away.

"Wait!" Sansa called out.

He stopped.

"Please…why won't you look at me?"

Sandor turned around, steeled himself, and looked directly into her eyes. Immediately flashes from earlier assaulted his memory. Her skin, completely bare before him. He clenched his fists tightly.

"I'm looking at you now."

He noticed a slight shiver pass over her small frame. He reached out a hand, tapped her chin, and said, "Stay safe little bird."

Then, he briskly turned and stalked away down the hall and around the corner. Joffrey would be wondering what took him so long. He would need to come up with something believable. But first, he would need to wash his hand. There was still a bit of evidence left over from his previous excursions.

His thoughts, as they were oft to do, turned to Sansa. He felt that his little episode with her would not help matters at all. Sandor felt that he was pretty much doomed when it came to that girl.

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How was that? good? Crap? Weird? I mean...this is all my own imaginings, so...yeah...


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